


No people beyond us

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Celts, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Pagan Gods, Roman Britain, battle violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: In Celtic Britain, Chief Jensen has to decide whether to support his own people or become a puppet of the Roman invaders. His decision is complicated by the gift of a beautiful slave, offered for his own use or as a tribute to the gods.Jensen doesn't believe in the gods, but those around him are desperate to secure the favour of Cernunnos, putting both Jensen and the beautiful man he's rapidly developing feelings for in danger.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 40
Kudos: 307
Collections: J2 Reverse Bang





	No people beyond us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No place beyond us](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/536446) by Phoenix1966. 

> This has been one of the hardest fics I've ever written - I've had epic writers block since the last major fic I wrote back in April and I've had to focus really hard to get through that. There are a few people who have helped with that - thanks to Nisaki (who is also the most amazing beta, as always) and Kris, and Anna, Merenwen and Paula for sprinting with me!
> 
> Thanks also to Phoenix for being the most patient artist ever while I wrote this at a snails pace. The art inspired me from the moment I saw it and I can only hope the story lives up to expectation.
> 
> Title from a quote attributed to the warrior Calgacus, one of the Britons who fought against the Romans in AD83, some time after I imagine this fic to have taken place. 
> 
> Excuse any historical inaccuracies, I've chosen drama over accuracy in most places ;)

_Jared shakes, the ropes rubbing raw on his wrists. The firelight burns bright in front of him, gleaming from the water as the witch chants her nonsense words. The other man, the man he’d thought was a friend, echoes her words back, a crescendo of noise rising into the night. The collar around his neck is cold and heavy, making breathing difficult even before the panic rising in his chest and his bare back rubs against tree bark, blood threatening to drip down his spine. _

_Chaos erupts, shouts and the sound of swords slicing through the air, bodies thumping to the ground. There’s a rush of power, a blinding green light, and then nothing. _

***

The rain mists gently across Jensen’s face as they ride, approaching the meeting point. It’s not enough to wet through his furs, just enough to limit visibility, giving the earth a dreamy, unreal quality that would be stunning in other circumstances. Now, though, Jensen is on edge, his attention flitting between the track in front of him and the meeting it’s leading him to, while trying to keep an eye on their outriders, wary of ambush. They’re outside of their territory, and that means danger, however friendly the summons.

His troop is well trained, though; everyone is alert, hands on weapons and poised for battle, should it be needed. Times are increasingly precarious, and everyone is well aware of the importance of this meeting. Jensen notes the twitches of hands towards sword pommels, the tightness of fingers on reins, the way arrows are kept loose in their sheafs, and smiles grimly. He’s taught his people well.

Despite their tension, they make it to Beinn Fianna without incident, Jensen taking his place in the centre as his people fan out behind him. He’d picked this spot for a reason; it gives them a wide ranging view over the forest in front of them and they should be able to see the Romans approaching long before they make it to the hilltop. They’ll be able to see whether Fuller has stuck to the agreement and brought the same amount of warriors as Jensen; if not, Jensen should have time to get his people to safety.

They settle in to wait, two people on watch at all times while the others settle to small chores they’ve brought with them. Jim starts whittling one of the small shapes he makes for their tribe’s children, while Felicia examines her weapons in minute detail, running her fingers over her many blades and pulling out a whetstone when she finds one not as sharp as she’d like.

It’s Jason who spots them first, nudging Jensen from his perennial spot quiet at Jensen’s side. They’re mere specks in the distance, wavering in and out of the mist, but it soon becomes clear that Fuller had stuck to their agreement. There’s no more than ten men with him. Jensen feels a little of the tension in his shoulders release; Fuller has passed the first test.

Fuller is panting hard when he eventually crests the ridge of Beinn Fianna, his pasty skin turned rosy red, sweat trickling along his temples despite the chill of the day. Roman warriors fan out behind him, trying not to show how unbothered they are by the climb in comparison to their leader.

There’s a flurry of activity as Fuller stands, fussing with his toga and cloak, tugging it back into place. Michael takes his place at Fuller’s side, standing tall above him, back straight and eyes sharp in a way that reminds Jensen of every successful warrior he’s ever met. There’s a moment of whispers and eye contact, silent communication that Jensen can’t parse, and then they’re walking across the hilltop towards him.

“Chief Jensen,” Fuller’s voice is full, rounded like the wine that makes its way across the sea from Gaul, full of the privilege Jensen understands is imbued in his three formal names. A small man scurries out behind him, obeisance evident in every cringing movement and settles on his knees at Fuller’s side. A slave, Jensen realises with distaste.

Fuller continues to talk, Latin flowing from him along with his own sense of importance. Jensen catches a word here and there, his ears struggling to pick up the words his brain has been struggling to learn. The small man keeps his eyes fixed on Fuller, hands twisting as he watches.

“Kurt Maximus Fuller thanks you for your attendance at this meeting, Chief Jensen,” the slave says, his voice softer and his accent placing him as a Gaul, probably from the western coast. “He has heard many incredible things about your prowess and wisdom and he can only hope that you will bring those qualities to be a friend of Rome.”

Jensen keeps his face blank, although he suspects his warriors aren’t managing as well behind him. He knows how his people feel about becoming ‘a friend of Rome’. He simply inclines his head, signalling for the translator to continue.

“Kurt Maximus Fuller hopes that this meeting will be the start of a great friendship. He hopes that you can come to an agreement with him on trade and on how to use the lands you hold that would bring great wealth and prosperity to both.”

Fuller starts talking after that, clearly impatient to hear the sound of his own voice again. Jensen waits. It doesn’t bode well for their future ‘friendship’ if Jensen’s not going to be given the opportunity to speak.

“Kurt Maximus Fuller knows from his friends in the Cantii that friendship with Rome can bring great benefit to the people of Britannia. He knows from the Catuvellauni what can happen to those who do not embrace friendship with Rome.”

The slave trembles as he translates the end; the fact of the Catuvellauni had ricocheted across what the Romans called Britannia, arriving at Jensen’s small tribe with multiple traders, each bringing more gory details than the last. It had been one of the primary reasons Jensen had even considered accepting this meeting.

Threat delivered, Fuller clasps his hands and waits for Jensen’s response, his beady eyes fixed on Jensen’s face.

Jensen pauses to consider his response, a tactic he’d learnt from his father. _Never rush into things, _he’d been told. _Make them wait. _

“We thank Kurt Maximus Fuller for the offer of friendship,” he begins, the slave translating rapidly. “We know the impact that Rome has had among our friends and allies.” He pauses, watching Fuller’s face twitch as Jensen’s words are translated. “We would seek to understand more about what that friendship might entail and why it would be of benefit to us.” He stresses the _why_ enough that Fuller will understand it, even without speaking Jensen’s language. He wants Fuller to know that his tribe are well aware of the way Rome has gone about winning ‘friendship’ and that they won’t be intimidated easily.

There’s silence after the translation is finished, both sides taking stock. Michael’s face has settled even deeper into a glare, the ice of his eyes piercing even at a distance. Fuller looks contemplative rather than worried and Jensen hopes his words have made enough of an impression.

“We understand that you will want to see the benefits of potential friendship,” Fuller starts up again. “And we have found out much about you, Chief Jensen. We’ve brought a gift for you - the first of many, I hope.” His mouth tips up into a leer, his voice slipping from wine to oil.

There’s a rustling behind him and one of the soldiers steps forwards, tugging at a chain. Jensen watches, mouth set, as a young man appears, his thin body trembling, prominent bones thrown into sharp relief by the way his hands are bound behind his back.

He’s beautiful, strong cheekbones sliding into tip-tilted eyes and hair that curls wild across his forehead. He’s tall, almost lanky, although Jensen suspects that a little meat on his bones would lead to him acquiring serious musculature, judging by the wide stretch of his shoulders. Jensen can’t help letting his eyes dip down, finding startling hip bones leading into a short loincloth, the only clothing on the tall body except for slave-sandals on his feet. He’s shivering, visible tremors racing across his body as the mist in the air makes his skin glisten.

Almost-starvation aside, he’s as close to Jensen’s personal preferences as possible, and Jensen wonders where Fuller is getting his information.

He’s also terrified and Jensen has to tamp down the fury rising in his chest.

“For you,” Fuller says, gesturing expansively. “A virgin, of course. I understand your gods prefer that - ours certainly do - so if you don’t want him for yourself, he’ll make a fine sacrifice for the success of our friendship. He’s a bit slow, but…” Fuller chuckles, “you can’t have everything.”

With that, the soldier shoves the man towards Jensen, sending the chain rattling after him. The man lands on his knees in front of Jensen, mud splashing up as far as his chest. He stares up, sunflower eyes wide in fear, pink lips bitten raw.

Jensen looks at the man, mind racing. His tribe only accepts slavery as punishment for the most serious crimes; they don’t buy or trade in slaves and Jensen finds it abhorrent. But rejecting the gift will offend Fuller, and might even make him seem weak; Jensen knows he has to accept.

“Thank you,” he says, teeth grinding.

“Not at all. I thought he would be suitable. I think it best that we end on such a happy note. Think over my offer and we’ll discuss the details once you’ve decided to accept our friendship. In the meantime, we will return to our camp; our soldiers have drills to practice and weapons to sharpen.”

With that last, thinly veiled threat, Fuller strides back towards the edge of the hill, cloak flapping in the wind. His men wheel and follow him as one, a display of discipline designed to highlight the difference in fighting style between the Roman army and the people of Britannia - a difference that had greatly aided in the destruction of the Cantii.

“Fuck,” Jensen swears softly, looking down at the man shivering in front of him.

“Fucking fuck,” Jason echoes beside him.

***

Though it pains him to do so, Jensen keeps the man kneeling at his feet, uncovered, until Fuller and his men are blurs in the distance. They wait quietly, his tribe watching intently to make sure that no men peel off from Fuller’s main group, that there are no spies left behind. Jensen keeps his hand on the chain, the links lax between his hand and where the man crouches.

“They’re all gone,” Jason says eventually, Felicia nodding her agreement to his other side.

“Good.” It’s the work of a moment for Jensen to shrug out of his own furs, settling them around the slave’s shoulders. The man startles as Jensen’s hands land on him, sending him backwards into the mud again and Jensen curses himself; of course the slave is terrified.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Just giving you something to warm up.”

Big eyes blink back at him, obviously uncomprehending.

“What language do you speak?” he tries. When there’s no response, he reaches down carefully and pokes a finger at the man’s mouth. “Speak,” he says, hoping a simpler command will bear fruit.

There’s no response other than increased fear, the man clamping his mouth shut and casting his eyes down.

“Latin, maybe?” Jason suggests. “Who knows where he’s from?”

“With all due respect,” Jim interjects. “It’s the least of our concerns right now. We’d do well to be far away from here come dark.”

As usual, the older man speaks sense and within minutes the troop is ready to leave.

“What are you going to do with him?” Jason asks. “Surely you’re not going to make him walk?”

Jensen frowns. “Take the chain off him,” he orders.

Jason approaches the slave carefully, following the chain to where it’s attached to a metal collar on the man’s neck, another chain running down his back to keep his hands tied together.. “It’s welded on, Jen. Going to have to wait for a smith.”

Jensen barely restrains a growl. He can only imagine how much pain the slave must be in from the way his arms are forced back. “Fine. He can ride with me. Help me get him onto the horse.”

After a few moments of chaos as Jensen tries to tug the slave up while Jason lifts him, the slave rigid in terror, they get him situated. There’s no way to make it comfortable, the slave’s hands digging into Jensen’s stomach and his body trembling so badly Jensen struggles to hold him.

“Here, Jen,” Felicia says, holding out a horse blanket. She helps Jensen tuck it around the man’s legs, trying to warm him even as the man whimpers in fear with every touch. His feet protrude from the blanket, long legs hanging down below Jensen’s, and Jensen can only hope this isn’t his first time on a horse, on top of all his other terror. His fears are proved correct when the man goes rigid as the horse starts moving, murmuring in fear.

“This is going to be a fun ride home,” Jensen mutters.

***

It’s late when they arrived back at the fort, the group unanimously deciding to push on long past darkness to make it home in one day. There are still fires burning in the hall, but the only person awake to tend them is Sam, her golden hair gleaming in the low light as she greets them at the door. She’d become his father’s life partner long after Jensen’s own mother had died, providing the only maternal care Jensen had known as well as wise counsel to his father. There’s no doubt in Jensen’s mind that she’s waited up both to make sure he’s returned safely, but even more to find out the outcome of the meeting.

Jensen swings down off the horse, taking a moment to stretch sore muscles before reaching up for the slave. He’s barely conscious, exhausted no doubt by terror as well as the long ride, and it takes a moment for Jensen to create enough cooperation to pull him down. Once he’s on the ground, the slave slumps in Jensen’s arms, legs trembling and stiff.

Sam had been conversing quietly with Jason, but as Jensen pulls the man upright, she comes to a sudden stop. “Jensen, who is that?” she demands, voice sharp with authority.

“Jensen’s gift,” Adam snorts, earning himself a slap to the back of the head from Jim.

“The Roman’s gifted me a slave to try and buy our loyalty,” Jensen says, letting his distaste shine through in his tone. “I can spend my time filling you in now, or we can try to get this man warm and free of these chains.”

Sam’s mouth thins but she doesn’t object.

“Of course, Jensen. Bring him inside.”

Jensen’s at a bit of a loss for how exactly to do that. He can’t tell the man to follow; and even if he could, he’s worried that the man might trip and fall in the dark, unable to use his arms to balance himself. He can’t bring himself to pick up the chain to give the order either; he settles for wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders, guiding him towards the hall.

“Let’s go get warm,” he says, aiming for soothing even if the man can’t understand. “And we’ll try to get these chains off, too.”

The man stumbles along beside him, legs weak, until they make their way into the heat of the hall.

“Sit him by the fire, Jason,” Sam orders, pulling Jensen to one side.

“I’m surprised to see you awake,” Jensen starts, trying for casual.

“Who is that man, Jensen?” Sam asks sharply, not falling for it. “Have you considered what you’ve brought back to us?”

“As I said, the Roman’s gave him as a gift,” Jensen begins.

“ A gift?” Sam hisses. “Have you considered that he’s probably a spy?”

“Of course I have,” Jensen returns. He’d spent the ride home thinking of little else. “But what was I to do - refuse their gift and offend them? Leave that terrified man a slave in chains?”

Sam’s mouth narrows. “That’s as may be,” she allows. “But I saw his face and his body. Don’t pretend your concern is completely selfless.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Jensen says. “You know me well enough to know I would never want a slave in my bed.”

Sam glances towards the fire, where Jason has coaxed the man out of Jensen’s furs to examine the chains.

“Make sure it stays that way. That man is a danger. Don’t let your cock rule your head, Jensen.”

“I don’t see danger. I see a terrified, starved man who doesn’t even speak our language. I’ll be careful around him, make sure he doesn’t learn anything of value, but I won’t keep a slave, Sam. Now, help me find something that will fit someone that tall and skinny and some food for him, too.”

Sam glares, but Jensen knows he’s won her over; for all her hard talk, her heart is soft.

“I’ve got some stew I had put away for tomorrow. He can have that,” she says reluctantly. “I’ll wake David to see if he can remove those chains.”

***

It takes far longer than Jensen would like to get the man free, David needing to bring his fire up to full heat before he can use his tools. “Just take care of the arms for now,” Jensen says eventually. “We’ll deal with the cuffs and collar tomorrow when everyone’s more alert.”

The man shivers despite the heat as David nears him with his hammer, but he stands obediently still as David works, seemingly unable to stop little whimpers escaping from his mouth. It feels an age before the chain breaks free, dropping to the ground with a clang in the quiet night, but to Jensen’s distress the man continues to hold his arms back, apparently too afraid to move them.

“Hey,” he tries, with the soothing tone he feels he’ll be using a lot over the next few days. “C’mon, let’s move your arms.”

The whimpers increase as Jensen pulls gently at the man’s stiff arms, moving them ever so slowly towards his front. “I know this hurts,” Jensen murmurs, “But it’s the only way.”

As his arms reach his front, Jensen catches a flash of white as the man’s eyes roll back and he faints, collapsing into Jensen’s arms.

“Fuck,” Jensen says, stumbling under the sudden weight.

“Fucking fuck,” Jason echoes behind him yet again, the only one of his men still awake.

They work together to lift the man, sweeping his too-light frame into Jensen’s arms. Jason moves his arms carefully so that they rest on his chest, not dangling down and risking worse pain, before Jensen carries him back inside the hall. At a loss for what else to do, he takes the man into the tiny walled-off chieftains space at the back of the hall and tucks him into Jensen’s own pallet. He can only hope that when the man wakes, his inevitable panic will be lessened by the feel of a wall at his back and his own set of furs tucked around him.

Jensen settles down onto the floor with a sigh, wrapping his travel pelts around him. This was not the ending he hoped for today - banished from his own bed in favour of a terrified slave he doesn’t know what to do with.

He can only hope tomorrow brings more clarity.

***

Jensen wakes to the crash of a pitcher hitting the floor as the man flails awake.

“Hey, hey,” Jensen tries, crouching down in front of the man. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.”

Once fully awake, the man cowers back, curling into a ball. He’s shivering, clearly still feeling the effects of the day before, and he keeps his eyes cast down, refusing to look at Jensen.

“Alright.” Jensen runs his hands through his hair, pulling with frustration. “Ok. I don’t know what to do to make this better.” His brain isn’t fully active yet, sleep still clouding it’s corners but he’s not sure that full wakefulness will make this situation any easier.

“Food,” he states. Food is the solution to everything, in his opinion. He stumbles up, making the man flinch, and picks up his own pelt. “Here,” he says gently, draping it over the man. “I’m going to get some food.”

Sam’s in the main hall and her eyes follow him as he collects two bowls of steaming porridge, but she holds her peace for the moment, for which Jensen is blissfully grateful. He gives the second bowl to the man, who hesitates for a long while before accepting, eyes wide with fear.

“Eat,” Jensen says, gesturing with his own spoon. He watches, heart hurting, as the man brings a trembling hand to the bowl and scoops up some porridge, but as soon as the creamy oats hit the back of his throat, it’s like all bets are off, and the man shovels the remainder of the meal into his mouth, cradling the bowl to his chest as if frightened Jensen is going to take it away. It’s soon gone, the man scraping the spoon against the wood in an attempt to get the last oats, and Jensen can’t help but hold out his own bowl in offering.

“Here, have mine,” he says. “I’ll get some more.”

The man shakes his head, long hair falling in front of his eyes, but Jensen is insistent. Once he returns to the room with a third full bowl, he sits down in front of the man, slightly closer than before.

“I’m Jensen,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Jensen.”

The man looks at him, the rapid movement of the spoon slowing.

“What’s your name?”

There’s no response, so Jensen tries again and again as the man finishes the porridge. It’s not until the fourth or fifth iteration that the man shakes his head violently.

“Sine nomine,” he mumbles.

“What?”

The only response is another shake of his head.

Jensen eventually gives up. He’s got business to attend to after his trip, not least updating his people on the meeting with the Romans. “Stay in here,” he says to the man, not sure what best to do with him. But he leaves the door open, not able to bear the idea of the man feeling like even more of a prisoner than he already is.

It doesn’t occur to him until he returns that evening that leaving the man in his bed will undoubtedly have created certain ideas of what he expects the man to do. He returns to the hall for dinner, having spent the day checking their crops and herds and helping to fix a fence to find that the man has been alone all day.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, realising that he should have given instructions for Sam or one of the other women to look in on his gift. He can’t even be sure that the man has been fed.

It’s clear once he enters the room that the man has spent the day dwelling on his own fears. He’s curled into a corner, still shivering, although Jensen suspects now more with fear than cold. There are fresh tear tracks on his face, his eyes puffy, but as Jensen enters he struggles up to his knees, knocking the furs away. Trembling hands reach back and fist in the tunic Sam had given him the night before, pulling it to halfway over his head before Jensen’s shock turns to action.

“No, no, no,” he says, tone sharper than he intends as he hurries across the room. The man’s flinch at his loud voice makes him pull back slightly, slowing him down enough to gentle his response. Keeping his movements slow and clear, he reaches for the tunic, pulling it back into place.

“No,” he says clearly, hoping that carries across the language barrier. “Clothes on. Time for food.” He’d been planning to bring food into the room and eat as they had that morning, hoping to encourage some more speech, but it now feels like he should introduce the man to the rest of the tribe, help him to understand that people were friendly and he wasn’t confined to Jensen’s room or to only having contact with Jensen.

“Come on, let’s eat,” he says, holding out his hand. When there’s no response, he moves slowly to grasp the man’s hand, pulling him to his feet. The man wobbles alarmingly, no doubt a combination of lack of food, a day spent sitting still and the terror he still feels.

“Food,” Jensen says firmly.

Conversation drops completely as Jensen walks the man into the main hall, his people falling silent in favour of staring at the newcomer, who cowers back behind Jensen.

“Eat,” Jensen growls, “Stop fucking staring.”

He catches an eye-roll from Felicia, as if to suggest he’s hoping for far too much, but she turns to talk to Jason and others follow her lead. Sam busies herself with the big pot hanging over the fire, holding out a bowl as Jensen nears. Her eyes are narrowed and Jensen knows he’s got questions to answer from her; but she knows as well as he does the need to keep some things private.

“Eat,” she says, echoing him, her voice expressing her displeasure.

Jensen finds them a spot near the fire, tucking the man in between himself and the wall. As before, the man inhales the food, barely stopping for breath, his eyes falling closed in apparent pleasure. Jensen takes the opportunity to look at too-sharp cheekbones highlighted by the glow of the fire, the way the tunic bunches around skinny shoulders and the long, thin legs that protrude, with almost no muscle mass despite the man’s height. The man will be getting as much food as Jensen can get inside him, he decides.

Once the man’s eating has slowed, Jensen repeats his actions from the morning. “Jensen,” he says clearly, thumping his own chest. “Sam, Felicia, Jason.” He taps the man’s chest lightly, raising his eyebrows.

“Sine nomine,” the man murmurs. It doesn’t sound like a name to Jensen, but it’s the same sound he made that morning.

“Ok, Sine Nomine,” Jensen says, smiling gently.

There’s a snort from the other side of the fire.

“That’s not his name, Chief,” Arthur pipes up, sounding amused. “That’s Latin. I’m pretty sure it means no name.”

Arthur trades between the tribes, taking the copper jewellery that David specialises in and Sam’s furs to be exchanged for the oats and salt his tribe can’t provide for themselves. He’s traded with the Romans too, Jensen knows, although he tries to keep it quiet, and clearly, he’s picked up a bit of their language along the way.

“Are you sure?” Jensen asks sharply.

“Get him to say it again.” Arthur moves closer, dark eyes raking over the man.

“Jensen,” Jensen says clearly, tapping his own chest. “Arthur.” If he hits Arthur a little harder than necessary, it’s only because Arthur’s lack of sympathy is wildly inappropriate.

“Sine nomine,” the man repeats. He ducks his head, but not before Jensen catches the glint of a tear in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that means he doesn’t have a name. Typical Roman shit,” Arthur says.

Jensen’s heart clenches. Everyone should have a name.

“Can you speak to him more?” he asks. “Ask him how long he’s been a slave? Whether he had a name before the Romans found him?”

Arthur looks sceptical. “I only understand a bit here and there, Chief,” he says.

Jensen’s not convinced. He lowers his voice to an intent growl, trying to keep the rest of his men from hearing. “Look, I know you like to pretend you have nothing to do with the invaders,” he says. “You’re worried it’ll affect your trade with the tribes. And you’re right, it will. But I know you’ve been trading with them and to trade you have to speak. And what will affect your trade a whole lot more is if I destroy everything you’ve got on you now and pass the message on to the other tribes.” His anger grows as he speaks, both at Arthur’s refusal to help the terrified slave sitting next to him and the man’s less-than-subtle attempts to play both sides as the Romans marched across Britannia.

Arthur’s face pales, visible even in the red of the firelight. “Fine, Chief,” he says, “Have it your way. But I’ll not speak it out here and you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“Fine,” Jensen replies, teeth grinding. “Just so long as you remember I know exactly what you’re up to. Finish up your dinner and then we’ll go into the back.”

Arthur slinks back to his previous spot at the fire with a glare that’s matched only by the one directed at him by Sam, who no doubt has guessed exactly what they’ve discussed.

***

As he suspected, Sam follows them into the back room once the meal is over.

Jensen settles the man on his pallet, tucking him back under the furs to keep him warm and hopefully, help him feel safe. Jensen sits cross-legged beside him, placing himself instinctively between the man and Arthur, while Sam stays nearer the door.

“Tell him he’s safe here with us, that we won’t hurt him,” Jensen demands, ignoring Sam’s snort of displeasure.

“Hic savlus es,” Arthur says, but the man shakes his head. “Vos autem non nocere.” Despite the hair covering the man’s face, Jensen catches a glimpse of an eye-roll, the first spark of personality he’s seen.

“Can you ask him where he’s from?”

“Nescio,” the man whispers once Arthur has repeated Jensen’s request. He repeats the same word over and over as Jensen questions him, asking about how long he’d been with the Romans, whether they’d brought him across the sea and what they’d used him for.

“He doesn’t know anything, Chief,” Arthur says eventually. “He’s clearly simple.”

“He must know something,” Sam says in frustration. The man recoils from her glare, shrinking back as far as he can into the blankets.

Jensen’s frustrated too; but he doesn’t think the man is stupid. He’s not sure he would answer questions either, if he was held captive by strangers.

“Tell him he’s not a prisoner,” he says finally.

That gets him a tiny sliver of eye-contact, multi-hued eyes meeting his for the first time before they drop back to the ground. “Non es captivus,” Jensen repeats slowly, following Arthur’s lead. “Hic salvus es.” He’s not sure whether he’s imagining it, but he thinks there’s a slight lessening of the tension in the man’s body.

“Ask him what his name was before the Romans. We have to call him something.”

Arthur repeats the question several times, the man repeating “Sin nomine,” with each question. It’s not until Jensen adds reassurances that he’s permitted a name, that it will make life easier for Jensen, that the man finally answers.

“Jared,” he whispers.

Jensen can feel the smile stretching his face, thrilled at the progress made.

“Jared,” he repeats. “Welcome home.” He’s rewarded with another flash of those golden eyes, gaze held a little longer this time, and his heart soars.

The only sour note is Sam’s glare.

***

Things get a little easier after that. Jensen doesn’t keep Jared sequestered in his room over the next week; rather he takes Jared out with him while he does his rounds and attends to business, helping Jared to get used to his new home. They find clothes that fit him, bracae that don’t leave a strip of skin above his ankles and a cloak to keep him warm as he tails Jensen around the village, checking in on people, crops and animals.

As soon as Jensen takes him to the barns the first day, it’s clear what Jared’s role will be if he stays with the tribe. He’s a natural with animals, scooping up the motherless lamb shivering in the corner and holding it to his chest, calming the frightened animal. He settles in a corner of the barn as Jensen discusses fodder for the winter with Jim, stroking the lamb softly. When they go to leave, Jensen can see his lip quiver under the curtain of hair hiding his face, and apparently Jim spots it too.

“He may as well take the lamb,” Jim says gruffly. “It needs special care if it’s going to survive. He may as well do the work.”

Jensen shoots the older man an amused look, not fooled by Jim’s apparent indifference. Picking the lamb back up with a lot less grace, he places it back in Jared’s arms.

“For Jared,” he says clearly, tapping Jared’s chest.

That gets him his first real smile, the corners of pink lips tipping up even as long eyelashes flutter down to look at the lamb. Jensen finds them later curled by the fire, Jared feeding the lamb from a rag doused in milk while his hand strokes gently across curls. Progress, he thinks.

***

Communication continues to be a problem, of course. Jensen had sent Arthur away after that first night, trusting the man even less than before. He certainly doesn’t want word getting back to the Romans that he doesn’t intend to keep Jared as a slave, aware that the fierce, vicious reputation of his tribe is one of the main factors keeping them safe from Roman incursion - for now, at least.

He tries to teach Jared a few new words every day, simple things like animal names, foods and actions, and he’s astounded by how quickly Jared picks up the new language. It’s clear Sam isn’t pleased - she’d much rather Jensen had brought home a slave that wasn’t intelligent enough to be a threat - but Jensen is delighted.

Trust grows between them as well, in tiny steps, and Jensen reminds himself daily not to expect more. He sets himself up a new pallet, on the opposite side of the chamber from Jared, and resigns himself to being woken by the bleating of the baby lamb several times every night. Jared still startles awake every morning and Jensen often hears the faint sounds of nightmares, but after his first attempt to wake Jared results in more distress than the initial nightmare, he grits his teeth and waits each one out.

It feels like borrowed time, waiting for Jared to learn to trust him, to learn to communicate, while waiting for the next move from the Romans, and Jensen knows it can’t last.

***

Jared’s sitting beside him, warming his hands at the firepit outside the hall, as Jensen cleans his weapons. The lamb bleats cheerfully by Jared’s side and the puppy Jared had mysteriously acquired curled in his lap, biting at Jared’s hands with tiny teeth. Jensen’s deliberately brushing their shoulders together with each swipe of the rag along his sword, trying to get Jared used to casual touch, and Jared’s settling into it, his own arm moving against Jensen’s as he plays with the puppy. It’s been a good day; the crops are faring well and they’d found a new batch of wild mushrooms in the forest, cut up and dropped quickly into the soup steaming in the hall. Jensen catches whiffs of it occasionally, looking forward to dinner, and he can hear Jared’s stomach grumbling.

Their peace is broken by the sound of hooves, a rider appearing at the edge of the clearing around the village. Jensen stands immediately, keeping his sword in his right hand while his left falls to Jared’s shoulder, encouraging him to stay seated. Jim appears at the door of his hut, his own sword in hand, while Jensen feels Jason’s shoulder press against his, holding his back as always.

The rider draws up at the edge of the village, slipping out of his saddle with grace. Tension seeps out of Jensen’s body as he recognises the man as Gil, the principal advisor to the Chief of their closest neighbours.

“This can’t mean good things,” Jason says quietly. Jensen looks back and grimaces, before he schools his face into neutrality. Catching sight of Jared looking up at him, fear making his eyes widen into a look that hurts Jensen, he smiles down at the man. “It’s ok,” he says soothingly, daring a touch to Jared’s hair. “Friend.” Kind of, he adds in his own head, but Jared doesn’t need to know that.

Gil approaches, leading his horse. It doesn’t appear to have been ridden hard, and Jensen relaxes a little more, hoping this isn’t an emergency.

“Chief Jensen,” Gil calls as he approaches the fire. “I hope you’re well?”

“Very, thank you,” Jensen replies. “You? And Chief Jeffrey? I hope it’s not bad news that brings you to us?”

“Chief Jeffrey is well, thank you. It’s not urgent bad news, Chief - but it’s nothing good, I’m afraid.” Gil’s mouth turns down and Jensen notes the dark shadows under his eyes, speaking of poor sleep.

“Let’s talk inside,” he says with a grimace.

***

They retreat to the back room. Jensen snags a pitcher of the good mead as they make their way through the hall; he’s fairly sure they’re going to need it. Sam meets them at the door, a basket of bread and fruits under her arm.

“You’re not going to let him sit in on this?” she asks, glaring at Jared, who shrinks back behind Jensen.

“He barely speaks any of our language, Sam. What harm do you think he’s going to do?”

“How do you know that? How do you know you can trust him?”

“And if he does understand, who exactly is he going to tell? He’s with me all day and he sleeps in my room at night.”

“I don’t trust him,” Sam hisses.

“That’s quite obvious.” Jensen infuses his voice with steel learnt from his father. “I do and I will, until I have reason to think otherwise. He stays. You’re welcome to sit in on this conversation, Sam - but only if you can respect my place as Chief.”

“Fine,” Sam murmurs, stalking into the room ahead of Jensen. Jason and Jim join them, sitting on Jensen’s pallet. Jared walks to his own pallet, staying as far away from Sam as he can before curling into the corner.

“Can I sit next to you?” Jensen asks, gesturing to the space next to Jared. The man nods, only tensing slightly when Jensen drops onto the blanket.

Felicia shows Gil into the room a few moments later, having taken his cloak and shown him where to stable his horse. She puts a stool down for their visitor before dropping to the floor by the fire.

“So, Gil, tell us what brings you here,” Jensen asks as the man settles himself. Jim hands him a cup of mead and Gil takes a deep swallow before answering.

“I came to hear the news of your meeting with the Romans, Chief, and to pass on some intelligence on their movements that might sway your thoughts, if you have yet to make a decision.”

“I wouldn’t have thought my meeting with Fuller was common knowledge,” Jensen says, annoyed.

“Very little stays secret, Chief. The trader Arthur was here when you met with Fuller, he passed the news on to Chief Jeffery, just as no doubt he’s passed information to you in the past.”

Jensen rolls his eyes at this further proof that Arthur wasn’t to be trusted. He’d asked his tribe to keep his meeting quiet while Arthur had been trading, but clearly the man had picked up information somehow.

Gil’s voice turns cold. “I see that you decided to keep Fuller’s gift, too. Can I assume that means you plan to ally with the Romans?”

“You shouldn’t assume anything. Refusing gifts causes offense, as you well know, and that felt foolish at the time. We have yet to make any decision on Fuller’s offer of friendship.”

“Well, it seems I have arrived in time, then. Chief Jeffrey wants you to know that the Romans are massing more troops - including those who helped massacre the Cantii, with more arriving each day. Our scouts tell us that they are training heavily and amassing supply chains - but not creating permanent structures.”

“As if they mean to march, soon,” Felicia suggests.

“Exactly.”

Jensen scratches at the stubble on his chin, distrubed. “You think they mean to march on your tribe?”

“I think they mean to pick us off one by one, and Chief Jeffrey agrees. Your land would be vital to their plans - your control of the river crossing controls access to all the tribes in the south.”

Jensen bites back his instinct to snap at Gil. He’s more than aware of the importance of the land he holds - it’s the reason for his meeting with Fuller and for the gift of Jared sitting beside him.

“Will you ally with the barbarian invaders, Chief Jensen? Or with your own people?”

It seems the time has come for him to make the decision he’s been putting off not only for the past week, but for the past several months.

***

Gil takes Jim’s hut for the night, while Jensen and his closest advisors argue about their response to the news he brought. Tensions run high and at one point voices are raised; Jensen knows he should be more concerned about the threat of Roman invasion but all he can think about is the way that Jared curls into him, seeking safety when the shouting scares him.

By the next morning, they’ve made a provisional decision; but Jensen wants to see the massing army with his own eyes before they put it into plan. And he wants to speak to Jeffrey.

It takes them the rest of the day to prepare. It’s not an ideal time for a journey; some of their crops are due for harvest soon. Jensen agonises over who to leave in charge; even if they don’t immediately move into war, this trip will be longer than the last and he needs to leave the village protected. Sam’s the obvious choice; Jensen weathers her fury over being left behind, head down as she shouts at him, but he’s the Chief and his will wins out. Sam’s even angrier when she finds out he’s planning to take Jared, but he stands firm there too.

They set off in the grey light of the following dawn, the pink tinge to the east promising a fine day. Jared’s lip trembles as he says goodbye to the puppy and the lamb, leaving them in the care of Jim’s wife, but he gives each animal one last stroke before resolutely following Jensen to the horses.

Jared’s arms are warm around Jensen’s waist as he rides pillion and Jensen wishes this were just an ordinary trip, the kind of jaunt to visit an ally he’d often undertaken with his father before the Romans arrived and made life so much more fraught. He could take Jared through the forests, show him all the wonders he’d found exploring as a child, waterfalls, lakes and streams and the spots where animals nested. But instead, he’s possibly marching to war.

Jeffrey is much as Jensen remembers, a little more salt in his beard since they last met, but his presence as overwhelming as ever. He pulls Jensen in for a hug, arms slipping under Jensen’s furs to wrap around his back in a reminder of that friction that had always existed between them, never fulfilled.

“Jen, boy, you don’t look a day older than when I last saw you,” Jeffrey booms. “Still as pretty as when you first came here with your father.”

“Wish I could say the same for you, old man,” Jensen returns. “You get more grizzled each time we meet.”

Jeff laughs, the sound filling the clearing outside his hall. Jensen has met plenty of other Chiefs down the years, gets on well enough with most of them, but he’d never dare talk to any of them the way he talks to Jeff. Half his success with his tribe has been his complete lack of self-importance, and it’s a lesson Jensen’s tried to bring to his own leadership.

“Shame we’re meeting again under such grave circumstances,” Jeff says, tone turning serious. “But first, come in and be welcome. And who is this?”

Jared’s learnt a lot about horses in the two day ride to Jeff’s territory, and he slides off the back of Jensen’s horse now with far more grace than the first time he’d tried it. He takes up his place, customary now, at Jensen’s back, seemingly only comfortable when he’s within touching distance.

“This is Jared. I’m sure you’ve heard - he’s the gift Fuller gave me to try and win my friendship.”

“Oh yes, I’d heard,” Jeff says, eyes roving over Jared. “But I hadn’t expected this. What a shame you don’t trade in slaves, Jensen.”

Jensen rolls his eyes at Jeff. “Shame you don’t either. Which means he’s staying with me. Hands off.”

Jeff’s grin is knowing, and teasing. “Of course, Jen. I wouldn’t dream of overstepping.”

“Let’s just get to business, shall we?”

***

Jeff feeds them well that evening and Jensen has something of a sore head when he rides out the next morning to scout the Roman army. Jared’s still clinging to his back, despite Jeff’s suggestion it might be safer to leave him behind; Jason and Gil ride with them but otherwise they’re a small party, aiming for stealth.

Jensen can hear the noise of the Roman’s long before he sees them, the murmur of a mass of men familiar from the last time the tribes went to war, the faint clang of metal on metal speaking of weapon practice. He’s still not prepared for what he sees when they dismount, tying their horses safely far back in the treeline before creeping forwards to the edge of a hill.

The Roman army is spread out beneath them, taking up the entirety of the valley floor. The camp is neatly arrayed, tents in regimented lines surrounded by a wooden palisade and stakes. There must be hundreds of men, he realises grimly; maybe even thousands. All trained and disciplined and far from home, with nothing to lose.

“I thought you said they weren’t settling in,” Jensen says quietly, gesturing towards the palisade.

“Apparently that’s just normal practice for them,” Jeff says grimly. “It doesn’t mean this is where they’re staying. They’ll keep moving forwards.”

Jensen’s attention is diverted from the Romans by tugging on his arm. Turning, he sees Jared gesturing wildly at the army. He starts speaking, more words than he’s said in total since Jensen first met him on another hill, facing another group of Romans, but it’s all gibberish to Jensen. He doesn’t even recognise any of the words as Latin.

“Jared, what?” he asks, gripping the man’s arms in an attempt to get him to slow down.

Jared continues to wave his arms, pointing at the Romans, but he switches languages. This time, Jensen can make out a few words he recognises, the Latin washing over him.

“What’s he saying?” Jeff demands.

Jensen’s about to remind Jeff that he doesn’t speak the invaders’ language when Gil steps in. “Something about the Eagle. New troops? He’s speaking so fast I can’t keep up.”

“Jensen, make him slow down,” Jeff insists. “Gil can speak a bit of Latin, but he needs it slow.”

Jensen isn’t sure how he’s supposed to make Jared do anything when he’s never been this animated before, but instinct takes over. He’s cupping Jared’s face before he realises what he’s doing, smoothing his thumbs across Jared’s cheekbones. Jared’s so shocked he goes silent, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

“For the sake of all the gods,” Jeff mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Jared, quid dicis?” Gil asks. “Lente.”

Jared blinks at Jensen, one of his rare smiles forming, before he turns to Gil. He speaks slower this time, but he’s clearly still agitated; he repeats certain words again and again as Gil’s face turns ashen.

“I understand now,” Gil says, turning back to Jensen, Jeff and Jason. “Bad news. He says that there are new troops down there, a legion that hadn’t arrived while he was with Fuller. He says that Fuller used to keep him around a lot.” Here Gil pauses, eyes narrowing, and Jensen can only imagine why Fuller had wanted Jared nearby, anger rumbling in his stomach. “He overheard a lot apparently, because Fuller thought he was too stupid to pick up Latin.”

Given the number of words Jared has learnt in the short time he’s been with the tribe, Jensen can easily imagine the amount of Latin he’d learnt if he’d spent months with them.

“He says Fuller’s plan was always to wait until this Legion arrived. He was going to lure us all into thinking he’d make friends, that being puppet Chiefs was an option, and then betray us all.”

“And why hasn’t he tried to tell anyone this before?” Jeff demands, suspicious.

There’s another flurry of Latin before Gil responds.

“The Legion wasn’t expected for some months yet - that’s why Fuller was playing for time, courting Jensen. He’s not sure why they’re here early, but they are.”

“And how can he possibly know that?”

“The Eagles,” Gil replies. “He says one Eagle means one Legion, and there are two down there.”

As one, Jensen, Jeff and Jason turn back to the valley. Sure enough, once Jensen knows what he’s looking for it’s easy to spot the two Eagles, soaring above the encampment on long spears - and it’s just as clear that they represent two separate units, a clear division between the regimented ranks of tents.

“Jared, do you know anything about how quickly they were planning to move after the legion arrived?” Jensen asks, heart pounding.

Gil’s translation is succinct:

“Quickly.”

***

As soon as they make it back to Jeff’s hall, his people burst into frantic energy. Jeff dispatches riders to the other neighbouring tribes, bearing urgent instructions to assemble.

“Our only hope is to unite,” Jeff says, addressing the riders before they leave. “The Roman invaders hope to take us by surprise and pick us off, one by one. Give the Chiefs this message: we only survive together.”

Jensen watches as they gallop out of the village, dust billowing in their wake. Jeff turns on his heel and stalks inside the hall, tension radiating from his body as he issues more orders: start packing provisions, make sure the weapons are sharpened, delegate people to take the children deeper into the hills. Jensen busies himself wherever he can, taking over responsibility for assembling weaponry, Jared shadowing him wherever he goes.

It’s late before Jeff slows down, darkness filling the corners of the hall and firelight dancing in the centre. “Let’s go eat,” Jeff suggests, beckoning Jensen towards his private quarters, and Jensen is only too glad to take a break.

Jeff serves them up thick, steaming plates of venison surrounded by fresh berries and Jensen’s unsurprised to see Jared has finished his almost before Jeff has started. Jeff raises an eyebrow.

“They pretty much starved him. For months, I think. He’s put on a lot of weight in the past couple of weeks.”

“Barbarians,” Jeff mutters. “They eat well enough themselves. Fuller certainly doesn’t starve himself.”

It’s not until he and Jeff have both finished that the conversation turns serious.

“Don’t be offended, Jen. We’ve known each other a long time and this is an honest question. Are you sure you can trust him? We’re risking a lot based on the words of a former slave.”

Jensen’s anger is only controlled by the level tone of Jeff’s voice. There’s no malice or anger to the question - Jeff wants Jensen’s honest opinion.

“Yes, Jeff, I think we can trust him. He’s changed a lot since he came to us… if you’d seen him when Fuller gave him to me, seen his terror and the state he was in, I don’t think you’d question whether he would want to betray the Romans to help us.”

Jeff nods. “That makes sense. But I want Gil to question him as much as possible while we mobilise.”

“Only if I’m there too,” Jensen insists.

“I’m not sure it’s possible to separate you,” Jeff says, with an amused look at Jared sitting by Jensen’s side, his eyes fixed on Jensen’s face as he works to understand Jensen’s words. Jensen feels his cheeks heat and hope Jeff puts it down to the heat from the fire.

“And you, Jensen. I’ve made assumptions today, but you haven’t actually said what you’re planning to do. Fuller made you an offer, gave you a gift you clearly value and you might be able to get out of this with power, under him. Which side will you choose - your people or the invaders?”

Jensen looks Jeff straight in the eye. “I’ve spent the last few months trying to convince myself there was some kind of choice, but there never was, not really. I choose my people, no matter the consequences.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jeff says, downing his cup of mead. Jensen follows suit, hoping this is the best decision for his tribe.

***

The first new arrival bangs on the door of the hall the next morning, startling awake Jeff’s men - many of whom had taken the opportunity for one last night of excess before the official move onto war footing. One of them pulls the door open with a creak and a figure emerges, lit from behind by the dawn sun, face in shadow as a robe billows around him.

“And this is how you plan to defeat the Romans?” A deep voice booms.

“Oh stop, Misha,” Jeff complains. “Just come inside and eat breakfast.”

The figure chuckles and steps into the hall, the aura of menace immediately diminishing.

“I have come to help defeat the Romans, though,” he says, as he settles down to eat. “The gods awoke me last night to the realisation that the time had come to fight back, that you were planning to take the battle to them. That the tribes were allying and would need my help. The great Cernunnos will lend his aid to protect this sacred land from the barbarian hordes…”

“Did you see one of the horse messengers passing?” Jensen asks, impatient.

“Yes,” Misha confirms with a twinkle. “The great Cernunnos let me know that news would be arriving and to watch out for a messenger.”

Jensen ducks his eyes down to his breakfast, forbearing from adding further comments. He’d forgotten how utterly irrepressible Misha was, how he had an answer for absolutely everything thrown at him. As one of the foremost Druids for the tribes in their part of Britannia, he was a sought-after addition to councils, gatherings and feast-days, his own blithe certainty that he had the ear of the gods working to convince the majority. Jensen has always been sceptical; Misha always had an answer for the mysterious ways of the gods, but never any proof. Still, he recognises the symbolic importance of including the gods in their war planning; not everyone is as cynical as he is.

He realises as he eats that Jared isn’t eating, for once; he’s staring at Misha with open amazement and not a little fear. Jensen’s unsurprised; Misha is quite the experience, even if his own reaction is dulled by time. Long, wildly curled, uncombed hair flies around his face, eyes blue as woad staring out from skin painted ash-pale. His robe, once white, is covered in leaves and scrawled symbols while underneath, Jensen catches flashes of skin, reminding him unpleasantly of Misha’s tendency to prefer nudity. Misha is as animated as always, hands and arms flying with gestures as he talks, food sometimes making it to his mouth and sometimes not.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs to Jared. “He’s not as scary as he looks.” He’s sure Jared doesn’t understand the words, but the tone seems to provide reassurance; Jared flashes him a little smile that shows off one of the dimples Jensen tries not to think about before sleep.

“So, Misha - you clearly know our plans. What do the gods require for our success?” Jeff is nowhere near as cynical as Jensen.

“The great Cernunnos spoke to me yesterday. He too is keen to see this land free from the Barbarians - but he recognises their great threat. He will need sacrifice if he is to unleash his power in our favour.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” Jensen asks sharply.

Misha’s eyes flit to Jared before resting on Jensen. “An animal should suffice. A strong, powerful animal - one that is of use to the god.”

“A buck?” Jeff asks.

“Cernunnos would be grateful for the gift of his chosen animal,” Misha agrees, inclining his head.

“We will hunt today then,” Jeff roars, to the loud applause of his men.

Jensen stays quiet, watching as Misha’s eyes return to Jared.

***

Jeff returns to the hall that afternoon with a buck slung over the back of a riderless horse, hooves tied front and back, blood pouring from a wound on its head. Unable to take Jared, Jensen had elected to remain behind to continue their organisation, pestered throughout the day by Misha’s questions.

“Just go and mix up one of your potions or whatever,” Jensen had snapped, early in the afternoon, annoyed by the constant chatter.

“But then I wouldn’t be able to observe your gift,” Misha had responded, eyes on Jared again.

“He’s not a fucking gift, he’s a human and if you stare at him any longer you won’t be able to observe anything because I’ll scoop out your eyes with my sword.”

“Touchy,” Misha had said. He’d wandered away for a few minutes, at least far enough to be out of reach; but Jensen hadn’t been able to keep him away long.

He’s relieved to see Jeff; the older man has far more tolerance for Misha and preparing for the sacrifice would at least give the Druid something constructive to do.

“Successful, I see!” Jensen calls and Jeff grins in return, face bloody. He slides down from his horse and bounds up to Jensen, triumph radiating from every movement.

“It was as if Cernunnos himself guided our hands and our arrows.”

“If we are able to complete the sacrifice tonight, I have us ready to ride tomorrow,” Jensen says. Now that he’s made his decision, he’s keen to put it into action.

“Tonight the moon is full,” Misha proclaims, popping up beside him again. “It’s the perfect opportunity for sacrifice.”

“And then you’ll leave?” Jensen growls.

“Jensen!” Jeff scolds. “Misha will stay with us through our battles, to advise on the will of the gods and the augurs.” He looks truly shocked at the thought of going to war without divine support.

“Of course he will,” Jensen replies, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Misha smirks at him. “Jeff will bring me, and you’ll bring your gift. We all have something to contribute.”

Jensen walks away with a glare, unable to guarantee self-control if he has to endure Misha any longer.

***

They wait until the moon has risen, bright enough on a rare cloudless night to guide their way into the woods.

“Cernunnos will require his sacrifice to be in one of his special places,” Misha had proclaimed, with his usual air of certainty. “He will want us to move deep into the woods, into a place he feels drawn to. He rarely comes close to our villages.”

They wend their way along a narrow path through the trees, a quiet procession ready to be awed by their god. Misha leads the way, followed by Jeff leading the horse carrying the buck. Jensen comes next, arm extended back to hold Jared’s hand, tugging him along. The other man is even quieter than normal, eyes big in a face made pale by the moonlight, but his hand is warm in Jensen’s, squeezing occasionally as if for reassurance.

Jason and Jeff’s men follow them, astoundingly quiet for such a large group. The only noise is the occasional rustle of leaves on the ground or the crack of a branch breaking as it meets a foot, the animals nearby scared away by the scent of blood. The air is still, tendrils of mist beginning to creep through the trees and Jensen’s glad he wrapped himself and Jared up warmly as the temperature begins to drop.

It takes some time before Misha finds a place he deems suitable, a large clearing lit by the moonlight. He pauses in the middle, face turned to the sky, before proclaiming loudly, “This place is pleasing to Cernunnos.”

Jeff and Jason work to pull the buck from the back of the horse, it’s eyes rolling white in fright despite the concoction Misha had given it to keep it calm.

“Centre it in the clearing, in the moonlight,” Misha demands, standing tall.

The buck lands in the grass before him and Misha gestures for the men to fan out around him, forming a circle. Jensen keeps Jared close beside him; he debates putting his arm around the other man to provide comfort for what is sure to be a shock, but Jared is still wary of unsought touch and his caution wins out.

“Great Cernunnos,” Misha intones. “We, the warriors of Britannia, stand here in this place of your favour to seek your support, your blessing, your aid, in our fight against the barbarian invaders. They seek to take our land, _your _land, and bring in their gods, gods who do not bow to you. They will force us to abandon our worship, abandon our love for you unless we are able to defeat them. Your favour will help mightily in the coming battle and,” Misha’s voice rises dramatically, and Jensen has to admit he is a fine showman, “We bring you a gift of your chosen animal in gratitude and thanks.”

As if out of nowhere, Misha swipes a hunting knife through the air, the moonlight gleaming from the blade. It whooshes as it falls, flashing past Misha’s face frozen in a rictus of manic delight, before dropping into the neck of the buck.

Blood fountains out, dark in the moonlight, splattering over Misha’s pale robes. The buck screams, raising the hairs on Jensen’s neck, as it tries to stand on legs already weak. It collapses, writhing, as blood pours onto the ground, Misha bent over to examine the auguries in the blood patterns.

Jensen’s so intent on the show before him that he doesn’t notice Jared’s reaction, the way the other man shudders and his hand tightens in Jensen’s. He’s leaning forward, waiting for Misha to proclaim whether Cernunnos is appeased, when Jared collapses to the ground by his side, eyes rolling white in a grotesque parody of the buck.

***

They get Jared over the back of the horse, eventually, his limbs uncooperative and his body dead weight. Jeff is visibly displeased, although he keeps it to himself, aggravated that someone as unimportant as Jared had interrupted the crucial business of appeasing Cernunnos. Jensen ignores him, furious with himself for not preparing Jared, even for bringing him in the first place given Jared’s obvious love of animals.

He’s more disconcerted by Misha’s reaction. The druid seems unconcerned by the interruption, instead staring at Jared with even greater concentration than before. He abandons his auguries, telling Jeff he’d seen enough and seems more than happy to go with them back to the village; Jensen’s experience has always been that druids in general, and Misha in particular, like to draw out the ending of a sacrifice, making great drama out of reading the blood of the sacrifice and inflating their own importance. Misha’s abrupt capitulation sets his teeth on edge.

They make better time back to the village, not slowed this time by Misha’s searching. “You’d better take him to Gil’s hut for the night,” Jeff says, once they’re in sight of the hall. He stalks off before Jensen can answer, Gil following him with a shrug.

Jared starts to come around as Jensen gets him settled on the pallet, Jason hovering behind him. Jensen’s heart does an awkward pitter-patter as Jared reaches for him, hand trembling. Slowly, so as not to startle Jared, Jensen sits down beside the pallet and reaches for Jared’s hair, stroking slowly through as the other man looks at him with mournful eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, trying to keep his words simple and clear. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you.”

Jared gives a tiny shrug as if to disagree, pushing into Jensen’s hand.

“Chief,” Jason says behind him, shifting from foot to foot, “We should really discuss what just happened. Jeff’s pissed and Misha… I don’t know what he is, but the fact that the sacrifice was ruined isn’t going to go down well with the men.”

“The sacrifice wasn’t ruined,” Jensen snaps. “Cernunnos got his tribute. If he chooses not to give us his favour after that, that’s on him.”

“That’s not how the gods see things, Jensen, you know that. And even if it is, it’s not how most of our men see things.”

Jensen scrapes his hand across his jaw. He’s well aware of how important the favour of the gods is to an army before battle.

“Can we discuss this in the morning, Jason?” he asks. “You’re welcome to stay here, or…” he lets the sentence tail off, making it quite clear he’d prefer it if Jason sought a space in the main hall.

“I’ll leave you for the night, Jen. But just…” Jason pauses, as if choosing his words. “Something doesn’t feel right to me. Keep your sword close.”

Jensen couldn’t agree more.

***

Jensen wakes, back stiff from sleeping on the floor, to banging on the door for the second day in a row.

“Jensen, am I safe to come inside?” Jason yells through the door.

“For fucks sake,” Jensen mutters, as he pulls the door wide. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

“But you want to,” Jason sing-songs, ducking a swat. Jensen’s already a grumpy person in the light of dawn; he doesn’t need additional aggravation and he’s not afraid to show it.

“Is there a reason you’ve woken me?” he demands, slumping onto the pallet beside Jared. It’s difficult not to get distracted, the sleepy, warm smell of Jared combined with the rumple of his curls almost too much for Jensen this early; but he forces himself to concentrate on Jason.

“Yes, riders have been sighted. Quite a few; most like Mark, as he’s nearest. Thought you’d want advance warning.”

“Urghh,” Jensen groans, flopping backwards. If there’s anything worse than being woken in the early morning, it’s having to deal with Mark before breakfast.

***

Mark strides into the village as if he owns it, the thickness of the pelts across his shoulders giving him an imposing air despite his inferior height. His mother Ruthie is at his side, as always, seeming to glide along, easily keeping pace despite her tiny stature. Their men follow in a long train and behind him, Jensen can hear Jeff barking orders to his chamberlain about supplies and camping space.

“Mark,” Jeff booms, striding past Jensen with arms outstretched. They’re of an age, had grown and trained together as youths, although Jeff wears his years with far more grace. They hug, pounding each others backs, before Jeff dips to embrace Ruthie.

“Misha is already here,” he tells her, indicating the hall.

“The more druids the better,” Mark proclaims. Jensen bites his lip not to point out that Ruthie is no druid, had never been ordained and had been banished by her mentor. At best she merited the title of wise woman, but Mark was a firm believer in her power and Misha was often inclined to draw on her more unorthodox learning. Ruthie dips a sweet smile and proceeds towards the hall, darting a sharp glance at Jared as she passes.

“Let us eat,” Jeff suggests, “And plan our victory.”

***

They gather around the fire in the great hall, Jason and Gil taking their place behind their respective chiefs. Mark is accompanied by Alex and Jensen is startled to see that’s he’s fully grown; last time he’d seen him Alex had still been visibly a boy. There’s always been rumours that Alex was Mark’s son, people desperate to explain the favour he gave the boy; but if so, there’s no family resemblance that Jensen can see. Alex is fair and slight, with big eyes that could match Jared’s in terms of pleading power.

Mark stiffens as Jared slips into the circle next to Jensen.

“So this is the gift,” he says.

Jensen doesn’t bother to conceal his irritation. “If only word of the Romans’ movements travelled as fast as gossip about my private life,” he snaps.

“You think my mother wouldn’t find out about a gift given to you for sacrifice?” Mark asks, amused.

“He wasn’t given to me for sacrifice. He was given to me to use as a slave,” Jensen growls.

“And yet, you’ve not made use of him that way. So, sacrifice it is, then?”

As if sensing his anger, Jared curls into Jensen’s side and instinctively, Jensen wraps his arms around wide shoulders, heart soaring when Jared makes no move to pull away.

“He’s not a slave or a sacrifice,” he insists, locking eyes with Mark. There’s a long, tense moment before Mark shrugs, looking away.

“Seems like a waste to me,” he says. “But you’re right, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than your personal life. Let’s plan a way to chuck those invaders back into the sea they came from.”

***

The war council lasts all day, as Jeff, Jensen and Mark debate their plans back and forth. Jeff wants to march immediately, force a battle in broad daylight, while Jensen urges a little more caution and reconnaissance. Mark differs entirely, favouring a stealth night attack, ideally including assassinating Fuller and Michael in their beds.

“Cut the head off the snake,” he insists, but both Jensen and Jeff declare such a plan too risky.

It takes until dark to formulate a plan they all agree on. They’re joined by the rest of their people for one last feast before they march, Misha and Ruthie working together to invoke the favour of the gods before they eat.

Jensen thinks everything is settled until Mark comes to sit next to him, smelling of meat and mead. On his other side, he feels Jared recoil slightly, still wary of men other than Jensen.

“It’s good to see you taking your place with us,” Mark comments. “We were worried you’d be swayed to their side by their gifts and power, holding such an important ford.”

“It was never a chance, really, after what they did to the Cantii. They’ve made it very clear that their promises are only good for as long as they need us, and then it’s destruction.”

“I agree. They wooed me too, you know. Power beyond my dreams. But I’ll never take power under the yoke of another.”

Jensen hums agreement, reluctant to comment. Mark’s thirst for power is well known; many times down the years he’s tried to resurrect the old idea of a High Chieftain. Jensen’s father had fulfilled that role, although informally, but that had come from respect rather than any formal process. Jensen has no desire to take on the mantle himself, or see them enter into a system where such an accolade would pass from father to son, irregardless of capability. He has no doubt that the offer made to Mark by the Romans would have included the title.

“I think we’ve got the right plan now, the best we can make given the men and territory we have. But Mother says we still need to secure the support of Cernunnos and the other gods.”

Mark’s staring into the fire, talking casually, but his shoulders radiate tension. Jensen can feel prickles starting on his skin as he notices the lull in conversations around them, people listening in while trying not to be observed. Jeff’s nowhere to be seen but Gil leans against the opposite wall, eyes on Jensen. Ruthie sits in state at the big table, chin propped in her hands as she observes. Misha’s next to her, eyes down and shoulders drawn in, staring into his cup as if it holds all the secrets of the world.

“We sacrificed to Cernunnos,” Jensen says shortly. “If he’s displeased, that’s his problem.”

“A buck is hardly a sacrifice,” Mark counters. “It’s hardly precious to us, or unusual.”

“A buck is a great sacrifice. Think of all the people it could have fed through the winter.”

“Cernunnos has no interest in that,” Mark snaps. “He wants shiny, interesting, new. And he wants something connected to him.”

“What does that mean?” Jensen’s keeping a tight rein on his temper, conscious of their audience.

“The boy is clearly connected to him. The way he reacted to the death of the sacrifice - Mother says it was a sign that the boy was Cernunnos’ real preference. That we should return the boy to where he belongs.”

“No!” Jensen explodes. “We are not sacrificing Jared because your mother is confusing him fainting with a connection to the gods. We’re not sacrificing any humans. There will be enough loss of life in this war as it is.” Jared cowers into his side, disconcerted by the shouting.

“And none of them gifts to the gods, Chief Jensen,” Ruthie intejects, her voice rising high above the few remaining conversations in the hall. “It is vital that the gods receive appropriate sacrifice.”

“We’ve given appropriate sacrifice. I will not sacrifice Jared.”

“He belongs to the horned god,” Ruthie shrieks into the hall. Jensen is appalled to see Misha nodding beside her, although his eyes don’t rise from the table. “Even the Romans knew it, despite their barbarian beliefs. If we do not return him, Cernunnos will look at us with fury, will support the Romans against us.”

“Horse shit,” Jensen shouts, rising to his feet. “Absolute horse shit, coming from a woman who was banished by all right-thinking druids. Your blood lust is well known and your connection to the gods is nothing more than your own self-importance. I will not let your desire to feel important lead to the death of an innocent.”

“It is because he’s innocent that he is dear to the gods,” Ruthie returns, but Jensen is already leaving. He pulls Jared to his feet and together they stalk from the hall, silence wrapped thick around them.

When they get outside, Jensen pulls Jared to him,unable to keep from burying his face in the man’s neck. Jared’s arms wrap around him, petting softly down his back, the point of Jared’s chin settling on top of Jensen’s head.

From inside the hall, Ruthie shrieks in frustration, a blood curdling sound echoing into the night and Jared shakes in his arms.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Jensen promises fiercely. Jared might not understand his words but he understands the tone well enough and they cling to each other in the moonlight, taking comfort from each other.

***

The tension in the village the next morning is palpable, lingering from both the showdown the night before and the knowledge that they ride to their first act of war that day.

Jensen’s torn over whether to bring Jared with him - as far as he knows, Jared can’t handle a sword, wouldn’t be able to defend himself against Roman attack; but equally, he was at risk if he stayed in the village alone, with no one around to stop Ruthie if she decided to take matters into her own hands.

So Jared swings up onto Jensen’s horse, mounting easier each time, and wraps his arms around Jensen’s waist. He smooths his thumb along Jensen’s cheekbone, smearing the blue woad Jensen had painted on that morning, and beams when the colour rubs off onto his fingers, staining them bright blue. Craning his head around, Jensen can’t help but smile in return, the paint making his face unusually stiff. Despite everything - the oncoming Roman army, the danger within their own ranks - he can’t help but be happy watching Jared’s confidence grow.

The ride takes a few hours, the relatively small vanguard making good time. The majority of their men are following under Mark’s leadership with Gil supporting him, while Jensen, Jeff, Alex and a handful of their strongest warriors ride ahead, intent on a stinging raid. Jensen takes the time during the ride to chat with Alex, impressed with the young man’s acumen and even more pleased that Alex doesn’t hesitate to use his few words of Latin to converse with Jared.

They make good time, aided by clear skies and the weak sunshine, checking in with Jeff’s scouts along the way. They reach their destination before nightfall and stop in the same clearing as before, high above the Roman camp.

Nerves begin to flutter in Jensen’s stomach as he looks down on the massed army, trying to identify the key landmarks in the camp. Their aim is not to ride down and assassinate Fuller, as Mark had wanted; but to skirt the camp, destroying supplies and weapons that were likely to be less well guarded.

“The Romans can’t march across our land without food,” Jeff had argued, and Jensen had agreed. Destroying their supply chain would be far more effective than killing one man, given that there was likely to be a strong chain of command behind him.

They prepare in silence, reapplying woad, sharpening weapons and muffling the horses’ feet. Jeff leads them in a small, near-silent invocation to Cernunnos, his whispered words all the more powerful for the quiet surrounding them and the fervour in his voice.

“You’ll stay here,” Jensen whispers to Jared. “Care for the spare horses and the medicines. I’ll return for you.” He hands Jared the reins of their few extra horses, brought with the knowledge that some of their mounts would not make it through the raid, and presses down hard on his shoulders.

“Stay here,” he reiterates. “Safe.” Jared cocks his head to the side, lower lip coming out in a look Jensen is finding it harder and harder to refuse.

“Mane hic,” Alex says helpfully. “Mane hic, Jared. Salvus.”

“No,” Jared says firmly, once he understands, but Jensen is determined.

“Mane hic, Jared. Please,” he pleads. Jared’s face crumples but he nods, leaning against one of the horses and burying his face in it’s flank.

“Thank you,” Jensen breathes, relief washing through him. “I’ll come back.”

He swings up onto his own horse and watches Jeff do the same, before raising his hand in silent order. The last thing Jensen sees before he crests the top of the hill, ready to ride down the other side, is Jared’s face, pale with hurt and fear.

***

The battle is roaring, flickering, thundering chaos. Jensen makes for their agreed targets, cutting down anyone who gets in his way. He takes vicious pleasure in the white-faced fear of his enemies, woken from sleep to the fire and fury of the armies of Brittania. To his side, Jeff peels away, making for what they’ve identified as the main store tents, half of the men following him. Jensen rides towards the horse lines, intent on cutting through their reins and sending them all fleeing towards the forest.

The men following him split up to free more animals, a few remaining on watch to cut down any approaching Romans. Leading the way, Jensen finds himself near the forest on the other side of the Roman camp, the shadows between the trees contrasting with the increasing flickering of fire behind him as Jeff sets the store tents alight. Jensen works fast, sawing through the leather reins efficiently, smacking each horse on the rump to send them on their way. Mark had argued that they should kill the animals, but he’d been met with almost universal disgust, the warriors sickened by the thought of such widespread, needless loss of life for such beautiful animals.

He keeps an eye on the forest as he works, knowing it’s his back up escape route if he can’t make it back to Jeff. To his shock, he spots a small convoy of Romans making their way into the trees, the scurrying gait and fearful demeanour of some of the party making it clear they weren’t trained warriors.

Fuller, he realised, making his escape. It’s not part of the plan, but Jensen’s enough of an opportunist to grab at good fortune, now that most of the horses are freed. Gesturing to Jason, he wheels his horse towards the treeline and rides, as quietly as possible, Jason’s horse panting behind him.

The red light of the fire dims as soon as they hit the trees, casting everything into gloom. Jensen pauses to listen, picking up on the rustle of leaves and panicked voices to his left. With a vicious grin, he and Jason set off and soon, he can see the figures in front of him.

With a bloodcurdling woop, he abandons stealth, putting his effort into inspiring fear. Sword ringing through the air, he gallops at full tilt towards the group, who start to run. It only takes a moment for him to run Fuller down, swinging at the older man, who manages to throw himself behind a tree.

Sliding from his horse, Jensen follows, growling audibly.

“I’m looking forward to killing you for keeping Jared a slave,” he tells Fuller, although deep in his blood-soaked mind he knows the older man can’t understand.

As Jensen raises his sword, Fuller shuffles backwards on his bottom, a wet patch growing visibly on his tunic. With teeth bared, Jensen’s about to swing, when Fuller’s face changes abruptly from terror to triumph.

There’s a sword poking at the back of Jensen’s neck.

He freezes instinctively, lowering his own sword. Fuller starts speaking, a jumble of Latin Jensen doesn’t understand.

“Kurt Maximum Fuller says you are a fool,” a voice says behind him. “He says he offered you wealth and power, and a beautiful boy, and you turned against him. And now you will die.”

Jared’s face flashes before his eyes, Jensen’s stomach plummeting at the thought that Jared will think he’s been abandoned when Jensen doesn’t return. Knowing he’s likely to die either way, adrenaline pouring through his veins, Jensen drops abruptly, dropping his sword as he dives for Fuller.

His luck holds out and he gets an arm around Fuller’s throat, pulling his knife from his boot to hold it against the man’s neck. Looking up, he sees his assailant is Michael, standing over him like an avenging god.

“Drop the sword or I’ll slit his throat.”

“Slit his throat and I’ll kill you before you have time to pick your sword back up.”

They stare at each other, neither willing to give way. Fuller struggles weakly against Jensen’s hold but the prick of the knife into his skin is enough to stop that, the sharp tang of fresh blood mingling with the scent of his urine on the air.

“I’ll take him with me,” Jensen suggests.

“You won’t be able to get away fast enough if you have to control him too,” Michael retorts. Jensen knows it’s true; it’s one thing to hold Fuller while they’re both still, another altogether if Jensen has to run. “And these woods will be crawling with our men soon, as your warriors flee back to your hovels. There weren’t enough of you for a full attack.”

He’s right; Jeff’s men will have pulled back by now, their task either a success or not, depending on the reaction of the Roman soldiers. And Jensen’s force had been almost finished cutting the horses loose and would be making their way back to Jared as agreed. He’s at a loss for how to escape, unwilling to leave Fuller alive but unsure of how to kill him and survive.

The standoff is broken by the appearance of Jason through the trees, circling around until he’s behind Jensen.

“Jensen,” he yells. “We have to go. Leave him.”

“But…” Jensen dithers, for just a moment, and it’s enough of a distraction for Michael to lunge towards him. He reacts swifty, shoving Fuller forwards into Michael, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of legs.

“Quick, Jen,” Jason yells, galloping towards the treeline. Jensen mounts his own horse at a run, breaking through the trees behind Jason into the camp. The sudden light is startling and he shields his eyes as he takes in the sheer number of fires; clearly Jeff had been successful.

“C’mon, let’s head back,” Jason urges. Kicking his heels into his horses flanks, Jensen pushes his horse into a canter, racing across the uneven ground and up the hill back towards Jared. They pick up more of their warriors on the way and by the time they crest the top of the hill, Jensen’s rough count shows that almost all of his group have survived the raid.

Beaming with triumph, he urges his horse over the crest of the hill, ready to sweep Jared into a celebratory hug.

The horses are still there, tied neatly to the trees where he’d left them and thee two bags of medical supplies lean against a nearby trunk. But Jared is nowhere to be seen.

***

Jensen is frantic by the time Jeff arrives, filthy, covered in soot, his smile gleaming white.

“What do you mean, gone?” he demands, trying to decode Jesnen’s babbling.

“Gone, Jeff. Gone, as in something’s happened to him. Someone got him, someone took him.”

“There are no signs of a struggle,” one of Jeff’s men points out. It’s only Jason’s arms around him that stop Jensen from lunging.

“Jen, calm down. There wasn’t a struggle. I’m sure Jared just got bored, or scared, and went back to the village by himself.”

“He would never do that,” Jensen insists. “We have to go looking for him.”

Jeff pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know that’s a fool’s errand, Jen. It’s pitch dark, we’d never be able to find any sign of him and he could’ve gone anywhere. We need to be long gone from here before dawn or the Romans will find us and kill us. Be logical - he’ll be at the village when we get back.”

Jensen knows that’s not true. Jared’s far too timid to have set off into the woods in the dark and besides, he never strays far from Jensen’s side.

“He wouldn’t…”

“I know you think you know this boy, Jen, I can see what’s happening. But truly, you’ve known him a few weeks and you can barely communicate with him; how well do you really know him?”

Jason pulls Jensen away after that, shooting Jeff a dark look. He manhandles Jensen towards their horses, talking in the low soothing tones Jensen often uses with Jared. The irony isn’t lost on him.

“Let’s head back to the village and check,” Jason says. “If he’s not there, I promise I’ll go with you to help you find him. But you have to try the most logical place first.”

Jensen’s furious but he acquiesces, knowing Jeff’s comments about the dark are true.

They’re on the move as soon as possible, not waiting for stragglers. All their warriors had known the plan: to make for the hillside, and then back to the village. Anyone left behind would have a better chance alone than if the entire force waited until morning.

They’re about halfway back when they hear the sound of hooves behind them. The group turns as one, swords rattling out of scabbards, Jensen and Jeff pushing their way to the back of the group to face the threat.

The horse that comes crashing out of the trees is sweating, clearly ridden hard. Alex barely clings to the back, blood pouring from his right arm and trickling from a shallow wound to his scalp. Jensen sheaths his sword and darts forwards, catching Alex as he’s about to tumble from his slowing horse.

“Are you ok?” he demands, pulling the younger man over onto his horse.

“I’ll live,” Alex groans, before passing out.

“We need to keep moving,” Jeff orders. “Jen, you alright to ride double with him?”

“Of course,” Jensen pulls Alex into a more secure position in front of him, ripping a strip off the bottom of his tunic to wrap around the wound. They start riding again, Jensen doing his best to keep Alex steady, any uneven strides resulting in groans of pain from the unconscious man.

Its a couple of hours before Alex comes around, aided no doubt by the midday sunlight streaming into his face. He rouses slowly before jerking awake in the strong circle of Jensen’s arms.

“What happened?” he demands.

“You passed out in my arms,” Jensen says. “Didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You wish,” Alex says weakly. “And besides, you’re clearly taken.” He closes his eyes again, leaning back against Jensen. “Where is Jared, anyway? He got his own horse now?”

Jensen stiffens, words clogged in his throat.

“What?” Alex asks, waking up a little more. “Did something happen?”

“He was gone when we got back to the clearing. There were no signs of a struggle, so Jeff thinks he’s just gone back to the village, but I…” Jensen’s not able to finish the sentence, but Alex understands him anyway.

“You don’t think he’d have left you,” he finishes.

“No.”

“I don’t think so either.”

They sit in silence after that, Jensen lost in his worries. His mind is churning as he thinks about all the things that could have happened to Jared and he’s already gearing himself up to leave again as soon as they reach the village.

He’s roused from his worries when Alex speaks again.

“Jensen, I don’t know if I should say this…” Alex begins. “And there’s no way I can be sure, at least not until we get back to the village. But…”

“What?” Jensen demands.

“If Jared isn’t there when we get back… I’d bet Ruthie’s taken him. She really does believe he’s special to Cernunnos. And yes, she does think gifting him to Cernunnos will help to win the war, but she also thinks it would convince Cernunnos to favour her, particularly. To give her more power. More than the Druids.”

“Surely she wouldn’t put her son’s alliances at risk like that?” Jensen asks, already knowing the answer.

“You think Mark doesn’t want his mother to become the most powerful Druid in Britannia? That it wouldn’t benefit him?”

Jensen doesn’t have an answer for that. While Mark was unwilling to become High Chieftain through borrowing power from the Romans, he’d be unlikely to have the same scruples about a god. That’s what the gods were for, after all.

“But how?”

“Common sense,” Alex replies. “They knew you wouldn’t take Jared into battle with you… so if they followed us, or had someone else follow, they’d have waited for Jared to be left alone before grabbing him. And he might not have struggled if he thought they were friends.”

It all rings true, the logical culmination of all the fleeting thoughts marauding through Jensen’s brain over the past few hours. His hands tighten on the reins and the horse jumps forwards, jostling Alex into a cry of pain.

“Sorry,” Jensen says, although it piques something in his brain. “Why are you telling me this, anyway? Why betray your Chief like this?”

“I don’t believe in murdering an innocent man in the dubious hope of pleasing a god that may or may not exist,” Alex states. “And besides, I like Jared. I think we could be friends.”

“Well, we have to find him first,” Jensen says bitterly.

Alex grins, blood gleaming on his teeth and in the cracks in his woad. “Don’t worry, I know where Ruthie will take him.”

***

Jared is not at the village when they return. Ruthie and Misha aren’t there either, although Mark is working with Gil to prepare the warriors to leave the next day.

Jensen is devastated, but he’s not shocked. He pauses only to shove some food into his mouth and refill his water skin, before beckoning Jason to him.

“I’m heading out to look for Jared. Are you coming?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Jason says. “And besides, I’m not going to abandon the boy. But we need an idea of where to go.”

“We’ve got one.”

It takes a little longer than Jensen would like to get Alex patched up enough to ride his own horse, but they’re ready long before nightfall.

“Is it far?” Jensen asks, worry making him jumpy.

“Back in our lands a way, but no. We’ll be there by tomorrow night.”

“That’s too long,” Jensen complains.

“They’ll have the same journey, Jen,” Jason reassures him.

“And the sacrifice will need to take place in moonlight. They won’t hurt him before then.”

Jeff comes out to see them off. He’d tried to talk Jensen out of his plan, citing the importance of their battle against the Romans, but Jensen hadn’t listened, and Jeff hadn’t tried very hard.

“I really didn’t believe this of Misha,” Jeff says, squeezing Jensen’s shoulder as Alex trots off. “I’m sorry, Jen. This happened on my watch.”

“You weren’t to know,” Jensen grudgingly concedes. “We thought Ruthie was staying here, and Gil thought she was coming with us. Mark covered.” It pains him to say it, but he adds, “No one’s fault.”

“Except Ruthie and Misha.”

“Except them.”

“Be careful, Jen,” Jeff warns. “Invoking the wrath of a god is no small thing.”

Jensen shrugs. There’s no other option for him.

“Good luck,” Jeff shouts as they ride out. “I want you back here in three days, ready to throw the Romans back in the sea.”

Jensen raises a hand in acknowledgement, but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have time to think about the Romans right now.

***

They try to pace themselves, but it’s a hard ride. Mark’s land is hilly, steep cliffs dipping into lush valleys, lakes and rivers often spread out before them. Jensen barely registers the beauty, although he hears Jason gasp in wonder a few times, to the backdrop of Alex’s pained murmurs.

The land flattens out as the sun is setting. Jensen can see the shadow of trees in the distance, replacing the wild, flat lands they’ve been cantering over.

“In there,” Alex says, face drawn. “There’s a lake. Ruthie thinks it’s one of Cernunnos' sacred places.” Blood is seeping from the wound on his arm again, but he doesn’t complain.

It’s another hour before they reach the treeline. Alex takes the lead once they’re under the canopy, easily navigating his way to a small, narrow path. “We’re best leaving the horses at the edge,” he says. “They’ll hear us coming a mile away otherwise, and besides, the forest is dense.”

He’s not lying. They have to push and cut their way through at times, the narrow path overgrown. Thorns scratch along Jensen’s arms and a branch catches Jason in the face, opening up a shallow cut, but Alex never falters, leading the way without pause.

“You’ve been here a lot?” Jensen asks. He’s thought of and dismissed the option that Alex is leading them into a trap; his instincts tell him Alex is honest and he’s rarely wrong about people. But the tendrils of worry still catch at him as he watches Alex scramble over a fallen trunk.

“Ruthie brought me a lot when I was little.”

“Oh,” Jason says, when Jensen doesn’t respond. “Why?”

“She’s my mother,” Alex replies. “Didn’t you know?”

Jensen stops so abruptly Jason crashes into his back.

“Your mother?” Jensen demands. “You’re betraying your own mother? “

“She wasn’t much of a mother,” Alex says bitterly. “Always more interested in her own power than me. Or Mark, really, except he could give her more power. And my point still stands… I won’t see an innocent man die.”

“But still,” Jason says, shocked. “Your mother.”

“Why do you think I’m really here?” Alex asks, wryly. “I could’ve given you directions, sent you on your way and stayed with Jeff to heal in peace. I’m here to make sure you don’t kill her.”

“You could’ve fucking told us,” Jensen growls.

“I thought you knew. It’s common knowledge in our tribe. Why do you think Mark takes such an interest in me?”

Jensen doesn’t have much of an answer for that. There’s always been a question over Alex’s heritage - he’d just assumed Alex was Mark’s son, not brother.

“Exactly,” Alex says, walking off down the path.

***

Alex shushes them as he approaches a bend in the path. Jensen rolls his eyes; they’ve hardly been talking a lot. But as soon as he listens, he can hear the faint sounds of movement ahead, and the lap of water.

“Oh great Cernunnos.” Ruthie’s voice is clear and strong, even at a distance, sending chills down Jensen’s spine. Loosening his sword in his scabbard, he edges forward, intending to look before rushing out. He’s stopped by Alex’s hand on his wrist, the boy’s eyes looking deliberately down at his sword before up to Jensen’s face, the message clear.

Jensen nods his acceptance; not killing Ruthie’s is a fair trade for Alex’s help and Jared’s life.

Peering around the corner, he can see the edges of a great lake, lit by the light of a huge bonfire on the shore. Ruthie stands proud in front of it, Misha to her side, their white robes turning blood-red in the flames. Two of Mark’s men stand on the other side of the fire, looking fearfully around as if expecting Cernunnos to pop out of the woods at any moment.

Jared’s behind them, tied to a tree. They’ve stripped him and his chest gleams bare in the moonlight, his still-sharp collar bones highlighted by an elaborate collar. His narrow waist is circled by an equally-jewelled belt, green stones like leaves dipping into a long tunic. Despite the situation, Jensen’s eyes are drawn to the slit up the front, the shadow only highlighting the contours of long legs that are just beginning to pick up muscle after months of inactivity and starvation. Jensen’s astounded; Jared is truly a gift fit for the gods.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let the gods take him.

Gesturing to Jason to circle around to the other side of the fire, he readies himself to rush the largest of the two warriors. He points to Alex and then Ruthie, making his intentions clear; there’ll still be Misha to deal with, but he doesn’t view the other druid as much of a physical threat.

They’re about to make their move when Ruthie’s voice rises, a shriek rising to the sky, wind whipping through the trees hard enough to force Jensen back on his feet. He doesn’t let it stop him, pushing forwards at a run; the element of surprise works in his favour and he only takes a cut to the ribs before his sword slides through the warriors chest, tip poking out the other side.

Jason’s similarly lucky, a gut wound sending the other warrior to the ground, and they turn as one to face the fire. Alex has tackled Ruthie to the ground, trying desperately to contain her wildly flailing limbs as she spits and scratches at him.

“Betrayed by my own son,” she wails. “How could you do this to me?”

Jensen turns to face Jared, ready to cut him free. He’s not prepared for the power that rushes past him as Misha throws a handful of herbs onto the fire, the flames jumping high and green. The force knocks him onto his back, Jason thudding down beside him.

The green glow coalesces to a shimmer around Jared. There’s a crack as Jared wrenches his arms forward, breaking the ropes binding him. He walks forward, towards Misha, a stag at his shoulder and his eyes green even in the moonlight.

“Priest,” he intones. His voice is deep, guttural, like leaves scratching on the ground, or the echo of a deep, damp cave. “You displease me.”

“Cernunnos,” Ruthie says, awed. “You have come to us.”

Alex’s grip loosens enough with shock that she’s able to wriggle free, standing tiny before the horned god.

“You have blessed us with your presence,” she continues.

“I have been dragged here by your caterwauling,” Cernunnos corrects. “I choose when to walk this land. You do not choose for me.”

Ruthie’s confidence falters for a moment, before she regains her equilibrium. “Well, we are glad that you are here now. We face a grave threat, the barbarian invaders. We have given you the gift of this boy, this tribute-”

“I am aware of the barbarians roaming this land,” Cernunnos interrupts. “I have already intervened to help speed their defeat. I do not like the presumption that you know better than I.”

“But, Horned One,” Ruthie tries again.

“No. Your arrogance, your lust for power, they are abhorrent to me. Stop.” He snaps his fingers and Ruthie’s mouth gapes, no sound escaping. “You will live life in blessed silence. I spare you only for your son.”

He glances at Alex, who trembles at his feet. “This one is good,” he intones. His eyes move to Misha. “This one is weak.” Another snap of his fingers is followed by a crack as Misha’s neck snaps.

“This one is loyal,” he says, turning to Jason, his eyes softening for a moment so brief Jensen half-think he imagines it.

“And this one is strong,” he says, as his gaze finally locks with Jensen. “This land needs you. And you need this boy. This land needs you both.”

He smooths his hands down his own chest, before resting his palm on the buck’s head. “I have said my piece,” he intones. “You know what is needed. Do not let the barbarians take over the land I love.”

With that, he tumbles to the floor, the stag melting into the woods.

***

Jensen’s muscles snap back into action, as if freed from an invisible net. He darts forwards, towards Jared’s crumpled form, hands frantically patting at the other man. There’s a long moment of gut-wrenching fear before Jared’s eyelids flicker, only showing white as his body shakes in Jensen’s arms. Jensen speeds through a million possibilities in the space of a second, of the impact that hosting a god could have upon a human body already suffering from months of neglect.

His hands must tighten without his knowledge, because Jared’s eyes open with a wince. “Ow,” he says.

Jensen pulls his hands back as if Jared’s skin is scalding; and truly told, his own skin is tingling with the memory of bare flesh beneath them.

“Are you ok?” he demands, forgetting for a moment that Jared won’t understand the question.

The message must get through because Jared smiles up at him, both rarely-seen dimples popping out together for the first time. Reaching up, he brushes his thumb along Jensen’s cheek, whisper-soft.

“Safe,” he says.

Jensen’s heart is lost.

***

Clearing everything up enough to leave takes some time. Jason works hardest, pulling the bodies of Misha and the two warriors into the fire, building it high and bright to burn their remains.

“Just leave them to rot,” Jensen suggests bitterly.

“Jen, I love you but… you’ve literally just seen a god come to life in front of your eyes. Do you really want to litter one of his sacred places?”

Alex nods his agreement as he fastens Ruthie’s hands behind her back, so Jensen reluctantly acquiesces. All he wants is to get Jared back to safety.

“Let me help then,” he’d argued, starting to pull one of the bodies towards the fire. Lifting his arm, he winces and watches blood drip onto the body.

“Let me see that wound,” Jason demands, pushing him back. Jensen tumbles onto the ground, legs weaker than he expected. Jason is about to pull up Jensen’s tunic when he’s pushed backwards by Jared.

“Me,” Jared says, glaring at Jason.

Startled, Jason backs away, hands held up. Jared takes his place, pulling Jensen’s tunic up and tucking it under his armpits. Long fingers dance across Jensen’s chest, exploring, sending goosebumps shivering across Jensen’s skin. Jared turns his attention to the wound, hissing in sympathy as he examines the long gash across Jensen’s ribs. It’s shallow but painful, stretching across tight skin, blood still dripping from jagged edges.

“Here,” Jason says, handing a saddlebag to Jensen. “Patch yourself up before we leave.”

Again, Jared takes over, snatching the bag out of Jensen’s hand. Rifling through it, he pulls out some bandages and a pot of salve from the supplies they’d brought just in case.

“Mane,” he says to Jensen, pressing down on his head, which Jensen understands to mean _Stay_. Pushing himself to his feet, he heads to the edge of the lake on legs that look a little wobbly still underneath the long cloth, the bare muscles of his back working as he bends down to wet the cloth through.

Once he’s back at Jensen’s side, he wets the wound down with care, wiping gently until the blood and dirt surrounding it is gone. There’s still a little trickle of new red seeping out but it slows considerably as Jared works, his fingers soft on the ticklish skin of Jensen’s ribs. Jensen watches enthralled as Jared’s hair falls into his face, the tip of his nose almost brushing Jensen’s chest. His skin feels too tight, shivers racing across it, the muscles of his thighs jumping occasionally.

He’s so focused on Jared’s face that he forgets to pay attention to what Jared’s hands are doing and startles when the cold salve is smeared across the cut, the pungent smell mixing with the odour of wet leaves and bonfire around them. Jared grins at him, amused at his reaction, before wrapping a second bandage around and around Jensen’s chest, his hands taking the opportunity to pet across Jensen’s back and sides, even brushing a nipple. Jensen can’t breath, sure the smoke from the fire has clogged his lungs while sparks have filled his belly.

Jared ties the bandage off neatly, tucking the ends in and running his fingers underneath, checking it’s not too tight. “Good?” he asks, stumbling on the unfamiliar word.

“Good,” Jensen replies.

“Good.” Jared’s hand cups Jensen’s face again, cold against scalding flesh. The bond that connects them like the glistening weave of a spiders web trembles, growing stronger, deepening in the moonlight, before Jared leans forwards. His lips touch Jensen’s, as cool as water, as soft as moss, brushing gently even as his hand holds tight to Jensen’s face.

Jensen freezes in shock, the sparks in his stomach migrating to flashes in his brain, before rousing himself to action. He keeps the kiss simple, lips moving against Jared, eyes desperately open even as Jared’s fall shut. He doesn’t want to miss a minute of this. Jared makes a tiny noise, a little whimper of need, before he’s pushing forwards into Jensen, long arms wrapping around Jensen’s back.

Jared breaks the kiss first, pressing his face into Jensen’s neck. Jensen hugs back, good arm smoothing down Jared’s back while the other hangs loose at his side to avoid reopening the wound. Jared shakes against him, shock settling in after the stress of the night and Jensen holds him tight until they’re ready to leave.

***

It’s a long, slow ride back, Jensen riding one-handed as he tries to keep his arm by his side. Jared rides alone for the first time, hands unsteady on the reins of a horse that had belonged to one of the dead warriors. Jensen had watched, overflowing with fondness, as Jared had whispered to the animal, charming it as he’s charmed Jensen, before hesitantly mounting. Jason leads Ruthie on the other horse, her hands tied in front of her, while Alex brings up the rear, face ashen with increasing pain.

Jeff’s delighted to see them when they ride in, but his expression grows serious as Jason quickly fills him in.

“We’re going to have to manage this very carefully with Mark,” he insists, voice stern. “Or this whole alliance could fall apart and the Romans can pick us off one by one.”

A low growl rumbles through Jensen’s chest; he’s much more inclined to confront Mark, accuse him of being party to his mother’s plans. But the feel of Jared tucked under his arm reminds him that more is at stake than his own vendettas. There’ll be plenty of time to deal with Mark once the Roman threat is eliminated.

“This is on hold until after the battle,” he says through gritted teeth. “But after that, all bets are off.”

“After that, Mark will be out of here like a scalded cat,” Jason points out. “He’s no fool.”

“The rest of your warriors arrived yesterday,” Jeff interjects, before Jensen can argue. “And our scouts returned this morning. We were about to hold a council, plan our strategy. We fight tomorrow.”

***

They crowd around the fire in Jeff’s hall, the three chiefs each supported by the men who lead their warriors. Felicia and Jim have joined Jason at Jensen’s side, with Jeff and Gil on his other flank. Mark sits across from them, two of his warriors looking uncomfortable by his side. Alex is nowhere to be seen.

Jensen works hard to concentrate on the discussion of their tactics, despite the fact that Jared is curled up warm at his back, his chin resting over Jensen’s shoulder as he watches Jeff move around carvings representing different units of their forces. He hasn’t left Jensen’s side since they rode back into camp, barely moving out of touching distance, and Jensen is already dreading leaving him behind the next day when they ride into battle.

Jeff’s scouts have reported on the Roman position and the decision has been made to attack the Romans at their current camp. The land is poor and boggy, with the Britons able to surround them easily, attacking from all sides.

They spend almost an hour like that, arguing back and forth, moving the carvings again and again to try and decide on the best plan. Jensen’s starting to get frustrated and he can sense the others are too; they can’t seem to find the option which gives them a truly unbeatable advantage.

Mark looks like he’s about to stand up and walk off, muscles tense and hands fisted, when Jared leans over Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen’s mind almost shorts out at the press of Jared’s first chest all down his back, his warmth more scalding than the heat of the fire, but he manages to keep enough wits about him to watch what Jared’s doing.

Jared picks up two of the carvings and moves them to one side, changing the battle formation, and then moves another backwards. There’s a moment of silence as everyone around the fire takes in the changes he’s made, working through the implications in their minds, before Jeff leans back with a shout of laughter.

“The boy found it. That’s the plan.”

The others make murmurs of agreement, fastening their eyes on Jared with new appreciation. Mark looks uncomfortable. “If we’re done, then, I’ll go and ready my warriors. We’ll be ready to ride at dawn.” He walks away quickly, his lieutenants scuttling at his heels, the atmosphere in the hall lightening significantly as he leaves.

The rest of the group break up, all with their own chores to see to before the battle. Jeff squeezes Jensen’s shoulder affectionately as Jensen heads out, a soft smile on his face. “He’s smart, your boy.”

Jensen looks at Jared beside him, his eyes tilted in query at having Jeff’s eyes upon him. He thinks about denying Jeff’s implication, but there’s little purpose denying something so obvious.

“Yes, he is,” he replies, wrapping his arm around Jared’s shoulders and pulling him in tight. If only he never had to let go.

***

As he’d expected, Jared does not take it well when he’s told he can’t follow Jensen into battle.

Jensen understands - he really does. If someone told him to sit this out, he’d be furious. But at the same time, they have no evidence whatsoever that Jared has ever been trained to fight. He enlists Gil to help him explain, hoping Jared will understand.

“You can’t ride into the battle,” Jensen says via Gil. “It’s too dangerous.”

Jared glares, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“I promise when this is over, I’ll train you myself. Teach you how to use a sword, to fight. But there’s no time for that now.”

Jared rolls his eyes, clearly unappeased.

“You can stay behind the lines,” he entreats. “There’ll be a group of healers there, waiting for the injured; you’ll be just as valuable staying there, helping people like you helped me.”

Jared agrees with a huff, firing off a stream of words that Gil clearly has trouble keeping up with.

“He says fine, this one time. He’s agreeing because he’ll help to heal people. But never again. You’ve promised to teach him to fight and you need to keep that promise.”

Jensen’s shoulders slump with relief and he aims a little smile at Jared. He gets a glare in return, no sign of the dimples Jensen tries so hard to provoke. But he can’t help the grin stretching his face, wondering what happened to the shy, terrified boy he’d first met but not sorry to see him slowly disappear, however long it might take.

***

The battle is blood, chaos, noise and the stench of innards spilled out; the British attack a screaming, caterwauling avalanche of noise that pours down upon the Romans, rousing them from rest. Jensen fights savagely, sword swinging again and again from the back of his horse, adrenaline dulling the ache in his ribs as the fight goes on and on.

They’re advancing steadily, Romans falling before them with more ease than Jensen could have hoped. Jared’s plan is working and Jensen screams in triumph when the final cohort of their warriors joins the fray, hitting the Romans from behind. The Roman line collapses further and Jensen pushes his way through, ignoring ordinary soldiers as he searches for Fuller, wanting to put his sword through the man’s heart for what he’d done to Jared. He catches sight of him in the distance, Michael by his side, both looking on in horror as the horde of blue-painted British warriors gets closer and closer. Jensen wheels, his horse rearing back as he gallops in their direction, heart beating with fierce glee as Fuller realises the disaster bearing down upon him.

He turns to flee, but it’s too late; his terrified mount no match for Jensen’s battle-frenzied horse. Michael puts up a brief fight, sword flashing in the sunlight but Jensen spears him through, knocking him from his saddle with one short, sharp stab.

Despite the noise around them, the clang of metal on metal, the shrieks of agonised horses and men, the triumphant battle cries from Jensen’s compatriots, Jensen hears Fuller’s whimper of fear as he realises his fate. Jensen can’t help but pause, knowing the danger but wanting to make Fuller wait, to ensure his end wasn’t swift. He grins, teeth covered in the blood running rivulets through the woad on his face, as the stench of fresh urine fills the air.

Satisfied, he lets out a blood curdling shriek, swinging his sword so it slices Fuller’s head clear from his neck. It bounces on the ground, mouth caught in an obscene rictus of fear and Jensen turns, raising his sword and screaming once more in triumph as he overlooks the battle.

***

It ends quickly after that, the few remaining Romans demoralised and disorganised by the loss of both their leader and their general. Jensen watches as Jeff’s men round up the few stragglers, herding them into the centre of the Roman camp. Jeff’s face is bloodstained and he’s limping, and Jensen’s heart unclenches as he spots Jason and Felicia by his side. Jim’s organising warriors at the edge of the camp, setting sentries, and Jensen goes to join him, unwilling to watch what Jeff’s going to do next if he doesn’t have to. He knows they can’t set the Roman prisoners free, and they don’t have the manpower to guard them forever, but he doesn’t have to like the alternative.

“Looks like we all made it,” he says to Jim, sliding off his horse as the older man builds up a bonfire, ready to burn the many bodies littering the ground.

“Mark didn’t,” Jim says shortly.

Jensen wishes he could muster any form of regret, but the only thing that springs to mind is that now he won’t get to deal with Mark himself.

“I heard you got the big kill,” Jim continues.

Jensen shrugs, aiming for modest but knowing he’s miles off convincing Jim. The satisfaction of killing Fuller is still coursing through his veins, a steady thrum beating in time with his heart.

“That’ll be a nice thing to tell your boy when we get back. Nothing like killing someone’s torturer to convince them to tumble into bed with you.”

“Why does everyone assume…”Jensen begins.

“Don’t even,” Jim says with a grin. “I’m just surprised you’re still here.”

Now that he thinks about it, Jensen’s surprised too. “Make my apologies to Jeff,” he says, swinging onto his horse. “You’re in charge.”

Jim’s chuckles follow him as he rides into the woods.

***

The healers aren't far back from the Roman camp. Jensen rides as fast as he dares in the encroaching darkness, heart still pounding although he recognises the signs of an upcoming crash. He can see the glimmer of firelight before he arrives and then the moans of the wounded carrying on the still night air. Sliding from his horse, he tethers him to a nearby tree before pushing into the camp, hands raised to alleviate any fear his precipitate arrival might cause.

“Chief!” There’s a shout as he’s recognised. “What news?”

“We won,” he assures the group clustered around him, primarily women either too pregnant or with babies too small to allow them to fight, the occasional older man visible among them. “The Romans are destroyed. There’s no need to push them back into the sea - they’re all dead.”

Jensen pushes through the crowd as they shout with joy, searching for Jared. He finds him at the edge of the camp, still tending to a wounded man as others celebrate around him.

“Jared,” he calls, mouth suddenly dry. Jared’s back goes still and then he’s standing, spinning around until he can see Jensen.

There’s a pause and then Jared’s in his arms, almost bowling him over, long legs wrapping around Jensen’s waist as he buries his head in Jensen’s neck. Jensen staggers under the weight but squeezes back, laughing with joy and spinning Jared around.

“Safe,” Jared says. “Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe.” He’s laughing too, even as tears pour from his eyes, his hands starting to pet across Jensen’s hair, his shoulders, down his back.

“Safe,” Jensen agrees.

Jared laughs again before pressing kisses across Jensen’s eyes, his forehead, down his nose. Jensen’s legs start to tremble and he strides towards the treeline until Jared’s back hits a trunk, leaning even further into Jared’s body.

Jared’s eyes fly wide with shock and then drop, a shudder running through him. Jensen releases one hand from where he’s holding Jared up and tangles it in Jared’s hair, pulling his head back. The gossamer connection between them sparkles for a moment before Jensen presses forward, his lips finding Jared’s in a kiss that hopes to be gentle and fails miserably. Jared’s mouth opens on a gaps but he doesn’t protest and Jensen sweeps inside, laying claim to what he already knows is his.

He doesn’t pull back until Jared goes lax below him, body moulded to Jensen’s. Breaking the kiss is one of the hardest things Jensen has ever done but he doesn’t want to rush things, to take when Jared doesn’t truly know what he’s offering. There will be more than enough time for that when they return home, and - he thinks as he realises they have a substantial audience - the opportunity to find somewhere private.

Jared stares up at him, eyes dark and lips swollen pink. He’s beautiful, his hair a wild halo around his head, cheeks flushed and strong hands pressing into Jensen’s shoulders. He’s unable to keep a smile from his own face, even as his muscles start to protest after the strain of the battle and his mind starts to blur with tiredness.

Jensen tears his eyes away with difficulty, intending to let Jared go back to tending the wounded while he picks up his own abandoned responsibilities. Instead, his legs finally give out and he slides to the floor, the last thing he sees before the world dims out Jared’s face above him, drawn with fondness and worry.

***

They ride back into their village a week later, noisy and triumphant, whooping and hollering as those left behind spill out of the hall to greet them. Jensen’s right at the front, Jared beside him on a new horse gifted to him by Jeff.

Jensen would like to think Jared’s keeping close because he’s as plagued by ribald thoughts as Jensen has been this past week, but he knows the reality is more likely that Jared’s waiting to catch him if he falls from the horse again. The wound across Jensen’s chest had reopened in the battle and combined with a couple of minor wounds on his arms and thighs, he’d lost enough blood to turn dizzy. It had taken him a few days to recover, Jared fussing like a mother hen the whole time, refusing to let anyone else tend to Jensen, but he’s sure he’s fine now; there’s no more need for Jared’s coddling. He’d only fallen from his horse once on the ride home, after all.

While he’d been bedridden, Jeff, Jim and the rest of their men had scoured the countryside for any fleeing Romans, taking care to rout them out of hiding. They know a few will have made it back to the big settlement the Romans call Londinium, but so many had perished that Jeff is happy to declare the threat vanquished for the immediate future. He’d thrown a big feast the night before Jensen left, taking the opportunity to welcome Alex to the fold as the new leader of Mark’s people as well, a unanimous decision from Mark’s remaining warriors. Their alliance is strong and forged in fire, and Jensen knows should the Roman threat return, the three tribes will step up to deal with it together once more.

Now, he slides off his horse into Jared’s waiting arms, allowing the younger man to steady him even though he’s sure he doesn’t need the help. He takes the opportunity to lean in for an embrace, ruffling Jared’s beautiful curls as his arms wrap around his back. Beyond the horses, he can see Sam’s face sour from her initial joy at welcoming them home; he can’t wait to tell her that it was Jared’s plan that had ensured their success.

“Come on, let’s go home,” he says, tugging on Jared’s hand and leading him towards the hall. Jared follows, but within seconds he’s dropped to his knees, arms outstretched as his puppy bounds towards him, licking across every bit of skin he can reach. Jared giggles as the puppy wriggles, looking up at Jensen with star-shot eyes and Jensen can’t help himself. Reaching down, he pulls Jared back to his feet and into a fierce kiss, hands cupping Jared’s face as Jared melts into him.

Their men go wild behind them, already half in love with the man whose plan had defeated the Romans and his love affair with their leader. Jensen pulls back, grinning at Jared’s flushed face as the puppy jumps at their legs.

Looking around, he’s distracted by a glow in the forest behind the hall, green light limning the outline of a majestic stag. It bows its head in recognition before moving into the trees, light shimmering into darkness in its wake before it disappears completely.

Original prompt image:

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/soy_em67).


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